


The Baby Diary

by mzsnaz, Sarek and Amanda Archive Maintainer (Selek)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzsnaz/pseuds/mzsnaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selek/pseuds/Sarek%20and%20Amanda%20Archive%20Maintainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda is bored – extremely bored – and starts to write to pass the time while on ordered bed rest.  Pregnancy really isn’t this funny…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Baby Diary

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer – Star Trek is the property of Paramount and isn’t mine. If it were, there would have been at least one scene with both Sarek and Amanda in STIII, STIV, STV, and STVI – oh, and they would have appeared in TNG ‘Sarek’, after a complete rewrite of the script, of course.

The Baby Diary

By mzsnaz

 

Disclaimer – Star Trek is the property of Paramount and isn’t mine. If it were, there would have been at least one scene with both Sarek and Amanda in STIII, STIV, STV, and STVI – oh, and they would have appeared in TNG ‘Sarek’, after a complete rewrite of the script, of course. J

 

Summary: Amanda is bored – extremely bored – and starts to write to pass the time while on ordered bed rest. Pregnancy really isn’t this funny…

 

 

Day One: The conception.

 

Dream on if you think details are forthcoming. Let’s just say that it’s pretty obvious what happened, and it didn’t happen in a laboratory anywhere near a test tube.

 

Day Eleven: The discovery.

 

I discovered that the auto cleaner in the main bedroom facility is really not entirely efficient. It missed a miniscule spot of something just under the rim of the refresher. I would never have discovered the oversight if it weren’t for the fact that I was quite absorbed in burying my head in the stupid thing while losing whatever contents were still in my stomach after my fourth bout of morning sickness in less than two hours. I plan to contact the manufacturer, which will cause tremendous dismay since it is a Vulcan product. I’ll do that just as soon as I feel like I’m no longer caught in a continuous transporter beam that’s focused on my weak stomach.

 

Day Fourteen: The death.

 

I plan to kill my husband. Yes, this is a premeditated case, and I understand the consequences; however, the cause is sufficient. He asked me when I planned to resume my household duties. He asked while I was rather busy at the refresher with another bout of morning sickness. He asked even though I haven’t been remiss in my duties, if he’d bothered to check. I’m not sure, but something in my eyes when I looked up at him – from the floor near the refresher – must have communicated precisely my intent. He left the estate rather quickly, and by evening, I had received a lovely bouquet of Terran flowers along with a box of chocolate mints. It all must have cost him a fortune.

 

Good.

 

Day Twenty: Another day, another death.

 

I plan to kill the sehlat. It has taken up the habit of howling at the exact moment I fall asleep at night. This is after I’ve tossed and turned to find the right position to stop the feeling of nausea that threatens to overwhelm me at the slightest provocation. To make matters more aggravating, when Sarek awakens, he stops and Sarek looks at me as if to say ‘What could possibly be wrong’? I think it’s some sort of psychic thing between them; therefore, I guess I’ll have to kill them both. Read Day Fourteen for reason for husband’s death. I think I deserved more than flowers and chocolate mints for his rude comment.

 

Day Twenty Four: More.

 

I’ve been informed that I shall receive fresh flowers once a week. I sweetly asked how long the kind gesture would last, and my dear husband said that it would continue for as long as I wished. He’s such a diplomat.

 

Day Thirty: More still.

 

Flowers arrived this afternoon, and along with them was a small box of apples and oranges. I sampled one of each and they were delicious. The orange caused a bad case of heartburn, so I think I’ll stick with the apples for now. The sehlat has been eying the oranges. Maybe I’ll give him one – just before bedtime.

 

Day Thirty One: Things not to do.

 

Do not give a sehlat Terran fruit. No, let me rephrase that…

 

Do not, under any circumstances, give a sehlat an orange while they are still in the house. Thank goodness for tile floors. Thank goodness for a stoic husband who refused to comment on the illogical act of his wife. I guess he didn’t want to risk another expensive apology.

 

Day Thirty Nine – Necessities

 

I’ve decided to stop worrying about what I do or do not eat. A positive attitude is something I’m striving to achieve, especially after the homicidal bend that some of my previous entries have exhibited. I think there’s nothing wrong with nutritious combinations of foodstuff such as applesauce and radishes. At the same sitting – sort of mixed together. It’s healthy, isn’t it? Delicious. Not that it does anything for my heartburn, but it just tastes so good. Sarek has wisely stopped commenting on my eating habits and has started fixing his own meals. Smart Vulcan.

 

Day Forty Three – Demanding little fellow

 

Any cravings I have can now be blamed on the baby. That’s my official stance, and since I’m actually able to keep down a few things now without becoming sick, that’s just the way it’s going to be. My only problem is that I’m craving things that aren’t easily found light years from Earth. Why do I wake up at night dreaming about vanilla ice cream? Cherry tarts from Brill’s Bakery in Boston? I’ve actually talked in my sleep about certain Terran foods – at least that’s what Sarek has said. I believe him, but what am I supposed to do? Stop dreaming?

 

Day Forty Nine – The magical disappearing flowers

 

Strange things are afoot in the estate. My flowers have started to disappear, and the only feasible culprit is Ee-Chiya. The problem? We haven’t actually caught him in the act, and he’s incredibly crafty. So good that he doesn’t even tip over the vase or dump the nutrigel – the flowers are just gone, petals, stems, and all. It’s almost as if there were never flowers present in the first place. Talk about a cause for paranoia! Apparently, this particular sehlat has acquired a taste for Terran flora. I’m tempted to ask for roses, but the thought of trying to remove thorns from Ee-Chiya’s mouth doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. After all, I’m working on a positive attitude and I don’t want the silly beast to suffer. So, I’ve reluctantly requested that the flower deliveries end for now. No more treats for the sehlat.

 

Day Fifty Six – Why me?

 

So much for a positive attitude. The healers are threatening to place me under strict bed rest after a small – and I do mean miniscule – increase in my blood pressure. They’ve apparently never heard of overreacting. The entire thing is ridiculous, especially since I’ve had very good medical reports from day one. I’m not interested in being confined to bed, thank you very much.

 

Day Sixty – Physically impossible

 

This makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever – I’ve actually lost a little weight, and yet my clothes are tight. How is that possible? Sarek commented that some of his clothes have apparently been shrunk by the replicator. He later confessed that he was preparing foods that I generally avoid due to their high caloric (and in some cases, toxic) effect on humans. In other words, he’s making a glutton of himself. I may have to turn him in to the healers – for his own good, of course. 

 

Day Sixty Three – No help from the home team

 

I do like my Vulcan parents, but they’ve been no help at all as far as this pregnancy is concerned. T’Lara states that she cannot possibly offer any advice since she is not human. Skon seems to be avoiding the entire situation by staying away. I made the mistake of asking my mother if she ever had any of the symptoms that I’ve been experiencing. Of course, she said – but only when she was pregnant with me. My brothers were apparently perfect from the beginning. Strangely enough, one of my dad’s comments is no longer amusing to me. He said that he hoped I would have a child just like me. That’s just not as funny as it used to be. 

 

Day Seventy – It’s back

 

I thought it was over, but apparently I have rebound morning sickness. Will this never end?

 

Day Seventy Six – Is this normal?

 

Today, I completely forgot to feed Ee-Chiya. When Sarek arrived home late in the evening, the sehlat practically attacked him, whining and shuffling his paws around until he was fed. I didn’t mean to forget him. After midmeal, I sat down to study some research papers involving hybrid pregnancies. Two hours later, I awoke, startled by the sound of a depressed sehlat whining outside in the garden. I don’t even remember falling asleep! Worse, I felt more drained that I did before the nap, and I ignored Ee-Chiya since I refused to go into the garden due to the heat of the day. I think Sarek was a bit disappointed, but he’s agreed to take over the feeding of the beast. Pretty soon, my only duties will be to nap and eat.

 

I’m no longer a baby incubator. Apparently, I’m turning into a cat.

 

Day Eighty – Questions I never want to hear again

 

Question One: How do you feel?

Answer: Awful, although my stock answer is ‘Fine’. I’m tempted to actually answer this question with a diatribe of complains and explicit descriptions of exactly why I feel awful, but I’m not that mean, nor do I have the time.

Question Two: How different is this pregnancy from a completely human pregnancy?

Answer: This question implies that I’ve been pregnant by a human at some point in time and is quite insulting, really. I’m completely baffled by this one, and generally just stare at the questioner until they move on to another idiotic thing to ask, like…

Question Three: What will the baby look like?

Answer: I’m guessing a newborn? I have to assume that the questioner means will the child look Vulcan or Human. I’ve been assured (in a most smug way…) by the geneticists and healers that the baby will, except for a few human elements, be Vulcan. Personally, I’m not sure I care for that, but that was the only viable genome that they could conjure up. At least, that’s what they told me.

Question Four: Are you looking forward to the baby’s birth?

Answer: What? Do you mean I have to actually HAVE the baby some day? All sarcasm aside, I can’t wait. My fear is that I’ll be forced to carry the baby to a Vulcan term of thirteen Earth months. If that happens, don’t read this journal past the ninth month. Insane ramblings are not pleasant and shouldn’t be inflicted upon anyone.

 

Day Ninety – One third of the way there, or am I?

 

I’m feeling less nauseous, which is wonderful. I’m cautiously optimistic that it’s really ending this time. There’s nothing better than eating something without regretting it minutes later. The testing continues to verify that the baby is receiving all of the proper nutrients and is growing. I know that – one look in the mirror tells me that. I’m a bit worried – T’Lara said that both Sarek and his brother Silek were ‘well above normal’ in terms of height and weight at birth. In other words, they were big babies. Just what I didn’t need to know…

 

Day Ninety Eight – Weird dreams

 

I woke up this morning after having what has to be the most bizarre dream ever. Somehow, it involved Sarek and a chocolate fountain – and a lush purple garden – and lots of nakedness. What I mean is that Sarek was naked. Why? No complaints, especially after he explained in the dream that it would be illogical to wear clothes when one walked through a chocolate fountain. It all seemed quite reasonable in the dream. Now I’m craving chocolate. That is what I’m craving, right?

 

Day One Hundred One – No cooperation, no mercy

 

I may have to end my truce of non-violence. The healers have apparently instilled the belief in Sarek that we cannot have any – and I mean ANY – type of sexual relationship until after the baby is born. When I asked why, I thought that the ceiling might become dented from the way his eyebrows flew up. Perhaps our relationship isn’t conventionally Vulcan, but you would think that I’d just asked if I could dance down the middle of the street naked. Strange – I’ve been having a great deal of thoughts that are distinctly not very ladylike. Perhaps that is what Sarek is concerned over – that my hormonal bouts will somehow compromise his equanimity. I think that his equanimity needs some shaking up now and again, and I’ll keep trying to break his resolve – especially before the pregnancy becomes too evident. I can’t believe that pregnant women never have sex, but who can I ask?

 

Day One Hundred Ten – Death to the healers

 

No success yet. Accidentally falling asleep on top of the covers naked hasn’t worked. Accidentally bumping into him in a very suggestive manner has been ignored. Accidentally lighting a cinnamon scented candle (make that ten candles) around the estate hasn’t worked. I’m beginning to wonder what to do – or am I trying too hard?

 

Day One Hundred Fourteen – Just when I thought it was useless…

 

Yesterday, I decided to stop tempting Sarek. It wasn’t working, and I was getting tired of the rejection. Today, he asked if I felt well enough to go with him to one of the small familial shrines that needed tending. Usually, I dislike going because there is little shelter except for a small lanai-type area and the heat is unbearable; however, we haven’t spent much time together alone, and I agreed to go. It was a pleasant trip, and the work required wasn’t difficult. In fact, it probably could have waited, but to a Vulcan, any imperfection is unacceptable. After sweeping the grounds, we went inside to meditate. At least, that was what I believed was our intention. I won’t lie – there has been an almost unbearable tension between us that I couldn’t figure out. After closing my eyes, I tried to focus, but found my thoughts wandering yet again to extremely risqué images. Giving up, I glanced over at Sarek. He wasn’t meditating; instead, he was watching me, amusement and something I’d thought I wouldn’t see for a long time lighting his eyes. It’s a good thing that the shrine is in an isolated location – we weren’t terribly restrained in our enthusiasm. Afterwards, we went to the flitter as if nothing had happened. Now, here’s my dilemma – if you’re on an alien planet and you desecrate one of their shrines, does that require some form of absolution? I have no guilt, so I’d say that all must be right with the world.

 

It’s so nice to be able to make up the rules.

 

Four months – Attack of the hormones

 

I’m not going to concern myself any more with a countdown of days – the healers keep up with all that. For whatever reason, this morning Sarek asked me how I was feeling and I burst into tears. Why? I have no idea. Needless to say, he was completely mystified by my behavior. This is the time when the differences between Vulcan and human are certainly intensified. He’s been very sweet in terms of trying to understand what I’m going through, and I’ve found him on several occasions reading whatever material he can about human pregnancy. Still, it becomes awkward to try to explain, between tears, that everything is just fine and he should ignore me until the hormones settle down.

 

If that will ever happen.

 

Four months, one week – What else could I do?

 

Today I went to the Terran Embassy for a brief meeting with the Maintenance Supervisor. We’re trying to work out a problem with several moisture filters in the main building, and someone apparently decided that I knew more about these things than anyone else. I take that back. Someone decided that they would rather deal with a human with extremely limited knowledge of a Vulcan filtration system rather than a Vulcan expert. It turned out to be a blocked filter, which I quickly repaired. I didn’t mention that such a thing was one of the first things I was taught to look for – instead, I took the accolades as if I were a genius. In any case, while there, I kept feeling as if I was under some form of inexplicable scrutiny and kept glancing around to see who was looking at me. Finally, I realized that it was my nemesis – an evil, mean woman by the name of Chelsea VanHorn who hasn’t liked me since day one. She sauntered up and asked how I was feeling. Stock answer – fine. Then, for whatever reason, she decided to make what had to be one of the most ludicrous, rude statements ever. She said that she had heard that Vulcans were the epitome of efficiency, and that the only sexual position they’d ever use was the missionary position. This was said in front of about five other staff members. Now, I could have ignored this affront, which is what Sarek would have wanted me to do. I know what he would say – such ignorance is illogical and does not warrant a response; however, I just couldn’t walk away, so I immediately smiled and told the old bitch that, to my knowledge, there had never been a missionary on Vulcan. It took her a moment to understand what I was saying, but the flustered look she finally gave me was worth it. Just as long as no one mentions this to Sarek…

 

Four months, three weeks – Manipulation 101

 

I tried to convince Sarek that the shrine needed some work again. He gave me a withered look and said that it certainly did not. I grinned and told him that he should try to find other shrines that needed cleaning – we could make a living doing such work. I don’t believe that he thought much of my idea, especially after I walked away giggling. Oh, well.

 

Five months – Boring and unnecessary

 

I tried to read the report on hybrid pregnancies again. It didn’t work – I was out in less than five minutes. That report could certainly cure an insomniac. Personally, I don’t want to read the report anyway. It’s not a comforting thing to discover that what we’re trying to do hasn’t been done successfully. I believe the longest living human/Vulcan hybrid was a little girl who lived less than a year. 

 

No – I’m not going to read the report.

 

Five months, one week – Manipulation 201

 

Research is a wonderful thing, especially when you discover something that you’ve suspected but could never definitively prove. I now know why the healers were of the belief that sexual matters weren’t appropriate. It wasn’t because they’re all a bunch of prudes (they are…). It’s because of a pheromone that’s released by the Vulcan female that essentially says ‘hands off’ during pregnancy. Not being a Vulcan female, I don’t have such a pheromone. Ironically, after the pon farr, Vulcan males are rather – er – open to suggestions by their mate. A lady should not take advantage of such a thing, right?

 

Right?

 

Five months, two weeks – Things I’ve dropped today

 

1 – a stylus while trying to make breakfast and read

2 – an empty bowl

3 – a bowl full of rice cereal

4 – two PADDS

 

And I’m not even halfway through the day…

 

Six Months – Wanted – softer walls.

 

Let’s see – today I walked through a doorway and somehow struck my left arm against the frame hard enough to leave a rather nasty, purple bruise. Less than an hour later, I walked through the same doorway and hit my right hand. 

 

Another bruise.

 

Then – and this is hard to believe – I walked into the kitchen and in the process of opening the cold storage unit, I pinched two fingers in the access door, something I don’t believe I’ve ever done before.

 

A klutz by any other name…

 

Six months, one week – Fun with Vulcans

 

I received a package from my brother Dan today, and opened it with great trepidation. I know that I shouldn’t be surprised by anything he does, but he really got me this time. I’d completely forgotten that, as a child, I had a special stuffed dog (black and white with blue eyes) named Spotty Puppy (I was three when I named him, and I’m sure it was a completely logical choice at the time). Dan apparently has been holding him hostage for years, but out of the goodness of his heart, he thought he’d send it to me to give the baby. When I told Sarek of this, he gave me a look that practically screamed ‘you wish to give this ragged, filthy looking piece of material shaped like a Terran canine to my child’???

 

I’ll keep Spotty Puppy somewhere safe – like in the middle of our bed.

 

Six months, two weeks – Punishment and reward

 

We arrived home two nights ago after a dinner party at the Embassy to find tiny pieces of material and stuffing scattered throughout the house. My heart sank as I realized that this mess was the remains of Spotty Puppy. Sarek scolded Ee-Chiya quite soundly, but it did nothing for me. I couldn’t believe it when I actually got choked up over the silly incident and went directly to our bedroom. Maybe it was hormonal, but I just felt that the sehlat had stolen something very precious from me. After a good cry, I left the room to search for Sarek. I finally located him in his office, where he was in the process of completing a call. It only took me a second to recognize my dad’s voice. Unbelievably, Sarek had called him to ask if there were some other childhood mementos that might offer some solace to me after the loss of the stuffed canine. I’m sure my dad wondered what was going on when I tried to speak to him, sniffling and wiping my eyes the whole time. Of course, I was behaving this way for a completely different reason than before. Dad finally said that he would send a box of some of my items he’d found recently in a closet. After the call, I soundly kissed Sarek. His response? “If I had known that the destruction of the dog would elicit such a reaction, I would have fed the stuffed creature to Ee-Chiya myself.”

 

We spent a very satisfying evening eliciting other pleasurable reactions from each other.

 

Six months, three weeks – Rule #1 – Don’t panic

 

Today has been a terrible day. Early this morning, I was awakened by an intolerably sharp pain in my lower abdomen. It scared me and I immediately contacted the healers. Everything is normal, and they couldn’t find anything wrong, but I’m still leery of any twinge or ache. How can I be expected to know what’s typical in pregnancy – especially in one with no precedent that I can find?

 

Seven months – It’s gone

 

I locked myself in the garden this afternoon. Is that not the most ludicrous thing ever? The doors aren’t supposed to lock at all, but the sensors indicated that no one was in the estate, and so they closed themselves and wouldn’t open without the right code. I know the code – honestly. Naturally, I couldn’t remember it. Pregnancy has robbed me of my memory, along with any sense of humor I used to have at idiotic situations. I sat on a bench for about two hours, fuming, before Sarek arrived, looking concerned. He’d tried to call in order to check on me, and since I didn’t answer, he came home to find out if something was wrong.

 

There is something wrong. I’ve completely lost my mind. Will it ever return, or will it get worse when the baby arrives? I’m beginning to fear for my child’s safety. How can I ever take care of a baby if I can’t remember the simplest things? What if I forget the baby somewhere? What if I lose him? Those are ridiculous questions, right?

 

I think I’ll try to meditate to calm myself. I just hope that I don’t lock myself in the meditation room…

 

Seven months, one week – Not funny

 

The box from dad arrived this morning. Except for a couple of items that I’d forgotten about, most of the contents were clothes. 

 

From about two years ago.

 

Going through them was a depressing exercise. I can’t believe I was ever that little, and I’m fairly certain that I never will be again. I’m tempted to send them to my cousin, but they’re probably long out of fashion. 

 

Memories are fine, but reminders of just how much things have changed can be rather cheerless. I need something to improve my mood. At the rate I’m going, though, I only need to wait a few minutes and my mood will change automatically. Or I’ll forget that I was in a bad mood.

 

Will I ever be normal again?

 

Seven months, two weeks - How to aggravate a pregnant woman

Sarek and I were invited to another dinner at the Terran Embassy, and while my impulse was to turn down the invitation, Sarek thought it would be improper to do so. I understand his reasoning - for some reason, we've found ourselves in a rather odd Catch-22 situation. I did my best for months to avoid any netfeed coverage of `the blessed event', but the more I stayed ensconced in the estate, the more the speculation grew over why. Was there something wrong with me? Was I even pregnant? Was there some Vulcan reasoning for my isolation? Was I not allowed out of the estate? Ironically, when I did grace the public with my presence, the gossip only increased. Wasn't I supposed to be on bed rest? Why did I look so pale - so thin - so fat - so tired - so happy - whatever? Of the two, I guess it's better to be seen than to be let the wild rumors persist, although isolation does prevent me from reading some of the nonsense. 

Seven months, three weeks - Duck

I think I'm beginning to waddle. No, I'm certain of it. It's hard enough getting in and out of chairs now, heaving myself up like a beached whale. I currently have the joy of walking like a drunk Tellarite, not that the sober ones walk with any more grace. Damn the luck - T'Lara was right. Apparently, those of The House of Surak do have big babies.

Eight months - Bad child

My parents informed me a few days ago that they planned to come to Vulcan in a few months. Sadly, my first impulse was panic, and then dismay. I don't understand why I feel this way. I thought I was doing much better in my understanding of them, especially of my mother. Obviously, that's not the case, judging from my reaction. It's weird - I almost feel embarrassed at the thought of them seeing me pregnant. That doesn't make sense, does it?

Eight months, one week - Horrible child

There's been a heightened security alert placed on interstellar travel, and dad contacted us to say that he'd have to postpone their planned visit. He sounded sad - and I was relieved. Isn't that awful?

Eight months, two weeks - Don't even think about it

I forgot to write about this due to the `parent panic' incident. The Embassy dinner wasn't quite as enjoyable as I'd anticipated thanks to - well, due to some peoples obsession with my stomach. Now that I'm showing quite noticeably, I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't some form of magnetism that forces humans to want to touch `the baby'. Sorry, that's not the baby - that's my stomach. I've explained this phenomenon to Sarek, but he seems less than convinced that such behavior is normal. Vulcans are extremely private, and the thought of touching someone other than family is an incomprehensible idea. The first (and only time in his presence) that it happened, I actually saw Sarek tense up in a way that indicated he was just about ready to end the stomach patting by force. I can't say that I've ever seen him behave in such a way, and it startled me and the `patter', who quickly apologized (to Sarek - not to me) and scurried away. I honestly believe that he felt the touch was a threat, and his reaction was instinctive. I'm afraid that the incident has only increased the gossip about Vulcans and their barely controlled, suppressed emotional tendencies. The good news is that I'm no longer subject to the game of `touch the belly'. 

Sometimes it's good to strike a little fear into the hearts of an assembly. Sarek can do that - if I try, I end up looking silly and shrill. There's nothing like having my own Vulcan to instill the straight and narrow into a bunch of unruly humans. 

Eight months, three weeks - Blues and depression

I should be ready to give birth any time. I should.

Instead, I have to ignore the calendar. If I think too much about four more months, I find myself near tears - or ready to scream. One thing I've tried to avoid in this journal has been the negative, so let's look at the bright side. I can't be pregnant forever. That's impossible, right? 

Nine months - Not fair

If one more person from Earth asks me when I'm going to have this baby, I'll lose it. I should be able to claim temporary insanity if I accidentally kill someone at this point. That only seems fair since I've been rather good at not complaining. No complaining should equal at least one death, and I've already selected my victim. One of the newsnet feed reporters has been particularly snide in his remarks about the baby. I guess it's my maternal instinct, but I feel that his hurtful brand of journalism should be dealt with in the most extreme manner possible. Naturally, Sarek wouldn't let me kill the idiot, but I can think of some very vile things that I'd like to see happen to him. Oh, well. I need to remember that this is supposed to be my `nice' journal. 

If that reporter thinks he's going to get an exclusive, he's out of his mind. He won't get so much as a pic until our son is in the Academy.

Ten months - Orders

I knew it was coming, but now it's here. Bed rest has been ordered, and I need something to do; therefore, I've started a number of different journals based upon `official' and `unofficial' news. Needless to say, all of this has been unofficial, and will likely be destroyed long before anyone can read it. After all, I have a reputation to uphold as a proper Vulcan wife. Who wants to read the rantings of a human pregnant woman anyway? I'll stop wasting time now and do something constructive - like count the tiles lining the far back wall.

Maybe I miscounted the first five times.

THE END


End file.
